


130 Prompts #68 - Gentlemanly

by FountainPenguin



Series: Blue Train [2]
Category: Fairly OddParents
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Developing Friendships, First Dates, Rain, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FountainPenguin/pseuds/FountainPenguin
Summary: High Count Anti-Cosmo and his chief of finances, Anti-Wanda, have an argument and decide to settle things over lunch during what, in retrospect, could be called their first "date".





	130 Prompts #68 - Gentlemanly

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere between the Frayed Knots chapters "Hot and Cold" and "Honey's Due"

**68\. Gentlemanly** (Shortly after the War of the Angels)

_Year of Breath; Spring of the Cheerful Turtles_

* * *

It never rained in the cloudlands.

Correction: It  _almost_  never rained in the cloudlands. And good thing, too. Heavy rains tended to have unpredictable effects on magic, and the community as a whole. Businesses shut down unexpectedly. Fairy pheromones washed away. Random half-dissolved spells flowed through streets that lacked proper drainage. Their world wasn't equipped for it. Without pipes leading from the roofs to the ground, the puddles built up, cascading over the edges like sputtering waterfalls, while the soft building materials wore steadily thinner and threatened to cave in.

Anti-Wanda started the storm. She didn't mean to; it was an accident. And technically, she hadn't been working alone and wasn't the only one at fault. After all, it was the new High Count who'd gone and gotten himself tangled up with the nature spirit who wielded control over Water. It hadn't rained in the cloudlands for centuries, and  _what_  was happening now that this Anti-Cosmo fellow had seized the throne? Gee whiz. Maybe emotionally unstable people shouldn't be allowed to act as mediums to demigods. He clearly didn't know how to do it right without freaking out over issues as small as stubbing his toe. This was gonna take some getting used to. For everyone.

As the rain beat down harder and harder, like nails burying into shoes, Anti-Wanda stood in the dirty street underneath a blue umbrella with her dear boyfriend Anti-Juandissimo, holding the heel of her hand to her eye and trying to explain for the  _one krakazillionth time_ to the stuck-up architects why they needed to stop making so many "pretty" buildings in Luna's Landing and start making more practical ones that could handle the rain. Ironically, the more frustrated she got, the harder the rain fell, and the more damage the post office took as a result. Such things tended to happen when you acted as the mortal medium of the nature spirit who embodied the Sky.

The new High Count (his name was Anti-Cosmo, and no one was surprised) slapped his hands against his chest, stepping forward while the architects behind him shrank against one another for comfort as his fury broke. "I say, I don't have the foggiest idea what you want from me, woman! I'm the one who spent centuries - nay, millennia! - training as an architect. What do you know about any of this? I am High Count. I want this crystal roof replaced with another one precisely like it."

Anti-Wanda pushed her hand up towards her eyebrow. "Listen. Listen, y'all know we wouldn't have ta spend so much money rebuilding business stuff if you'd just kick your butt into designing it right the first time around."

Anti-Cosmo crossed his arms in an X, then flung them out to either side. "Oooh, I should think  _not!_ Your blueprint designs are far too radical to implement, Anti-Wanda. Are you daft? Throw the switch on those and you'll  _completely_  throw off the flow of karma throughout the entire establishment. Prosperity, peace, and stable mental health will plummet! Not on my head. I daresay I am morally obligated to refuse your advances." Folding the arms behind his back, he lowered his head and began to pace back and forth in front of the door. "Although I fail to see why I need  _your_  approval to rebuild this structure in the first place. I am, after all, High Count now."

"Y'all literally instated me as your financial adviser on the camarilla court," she groaned. She threaded her fingers through Anti-Juandissimo's; he squeezed her hand in silent support. "Like it or wear it, this is how the facts gotta be goin' down today, buddy."

"Don't  _'buddy'_ me, dame!" Whipping around, spraying droplets from his blue hair, Anti-Cosmo stamped his foot in a glittering purple puddle. "As High Count, I order you to have this crystal dome replaced by tonight."

"Why, though?" She pointed at the post office with her thumb. "You wanna get a roof for this place that ain't gonna collapse next time it rains. It's the rotten cloudstone in the structure. It dissolves. Gotta tear it out and start over."

Again with the crazy arms. They flew into the air above his head, clenched into fists at the ends. "It almost never rains here anyway."

"Well, it's sure raining now." She expected him to lean his head away when she thrust her face into his, because she was taller and he'd always ducked away before. Every time before. But not today. Today Anti-Cosmo squinted up at her with both eyes, even though one was blind and one clenched a monocle. He mashed his claws into fists at his sides. His lips trembled. Flecks of hail crept into the rain, slicing skin and catching in blue fur.

"Ooh, why, you impudent little pest! Can't we simply progress to the part of this scene where you authorize the funding for repairs and I don't have to bother with you again? And won't you please call off this bloody storm?"

Anti-Wanda shook her head. "Sorry. I mean that- I really am sorry. I know you're new to this whole medium thing now that you finally got tied with Sunnie, but that's not how bein' a representative for the nature spirits works. Storms ain't just gonna go away with a snap a' my fingers or a wave a' my wand. My mood don't control the weather." She gestured towards the pregnant clouds. "My bad mood hurts Munn's feelings, and  _he_  controls the weather. And there's rain and ice this time instead a' just wind 'cuz you've got Sunnie riled up now. I brought the winds ta this party, but I ain't the one who made the rain."

Anti-Cosmo brought his hand to his mouth and sunk his teeth into his sleeve. He didn't have an umbrella, and in this state none of the mixed crowd of nobility and construction workers were brave enough to dash forward and offer him one. His wings, soaked and made useless by the weather, flapped wildly against his back, but his heels stayed firmly planted in the mucky puddles. He flared a finger in Anti-Wanda's direction. "This ought to be taken to roost. You. Bring me to the person I have to snog to get this crystal roof up before midnight. Post-haste, now!"

His furious phrasing brought her pause for a second, and she tilted her head. "Actually, technically that's me. But no matter how many kisses ya hit me with, I ain't giving my stamp of okay on this one. This roof design is dumb, and we need ta scrap it all and start over."

As Anti-Cosmo's face twisted with rage, the chunks of falling hail grew larger. His hand moved to his left hip, although he didn't break eye contact. With a  _shiing!_  of pumice and glazed ceramic scratching against silver, he unsheathed his battered wand and whipped around. A beam of bright blue exploded from the tip and vaporized a leaf that happened to be drifting by at that precise moment. The ashes fell clump by clump in a heap before being washed away.

"Nice shot, champ," Anti-Wanda said, pocketing her hands. No one else was saying anything. Leaving Anti-Juandissimo with the umbrella, she walked over to Anti-Cosmo, her boots squishing with every step, and glanced into the sky. No lightning. 'Course not. Chances were, Munn was arguing with Sunnie on Plane 23, and didn't have time to go bother Saturn right now and add fire to the mix. "Hey, High Count, it's needles out here. This storm prob'ly ain't gonna stop 'til we come to an agreement. When you wanna talk about this, come find me inside."

His head twitched towards her. His hand remained extended, wand simmering at the transmitting tip. "Needles, you say?"

"Yeah, outside."

"Oh," he realized. "The falling rain feels like needles." He leaned back his head. "You know, I suppose it does."

"I'm goin' somewhere dry," she reminded him. Anti-Cosmo smacked himself in the temple.

"You're right, you're right. Do forgive me, I pray, for losing my temper like this. I've been upright too long. That, and this dreary weather is driving me mad. Water rinses off pheromones, you know." He tossed his wand from his right hand to his left and pressed it to his forehead. His free hand continued to make rolling gestures. "Anti-Wanda, I know the proper protocol for arguments such as this one is to take it to roost and sort out the matter sociosexually, but as you may recall, I've chosen to abstain from such a practice at this time. But surely there's some way we can contribute equally and reach an agreement here? Something a mite less… invasive?"

Anti-Wanda shrugged, keeping her hands in her pockets. "Well. Anti-Juandissimo and I are goin' home. Fetch us when ya got it." Anti-Cosmo didn't respond, so she walked back to join her boyfriend. Nudging him with her wing, she said, "C'mon. Let's split."

Anti-Juandissimo brought his arm around her waist. His lips touched her forehead. "He is not worth your time,  _ma grande amie_. You are a radiant flower, and are meant to bow to no prickly fiend such as him."

She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. Tell me again, though."

"The radiant beauty of your chin-"

"Wait! No, you crew can leave. I'll take care of this on my own. Anti-Wanda, wait!"

She twisted halfway around to find Anti-Cosmo sprinting after them, one hand outstretched. When he reached her, he grabbed her forearm and wrenched her almost out from beneath the security of Anti-Juandissimo's umbrella. "Whoa," she protested, digging in her heels.

"Anti-Wanda, Anti-Wanda! Listen. Listen to me. I don't understand how to be a good medium for my people." Anti-Cosmo stared at her, bright green eyes the size of pasta dishes. They glowed even more vividly in this gray weather. His grip squeezed tighter. "But you do. You're the only one from the former camarilla court who dared join me in my quest to overthrow Anti-Bryndin, and look at where that got you. Oh, I'm such a fool. An utter buffoon! Why, you have experience bonding with Munn. Could you teach me how to manage my erratic emotions where Sunnie is concerned?"

"Uh…" She glanced sideways at Anti-Juandissimo. He removed his hand from her waist instantly and took half a step back, his usual cowardice flaring up as soon as Anti-Cosmo entered the scene. Anti-Cosmo himself didn't seem to notice. His puppy-dog look was one of genuine hope. "You wanna… hit the market for some… bread or… something nice? Buy some and…" She made a diving motion with her arm to encompass everything between "feeding ducks" and "lying on the rocks devouring entire loaves like the savages we are."

Curiously, Anti-Cosmo didn't appear at all perturbed by her suggestion. He nodded with bubbly enthusiasm. "That would be delightful. We can go immediately to market, can't we?"

Anti-Wanda glanced at Anti-Juandissimo again. "I mean, I guess? Are you okay with that, hon?"

The rain was suddenly very loud. Anti-Juandissimo's arm wrapped her waist again. Carefully, still holding the umbrella, he took her other hand and pulled her gently around. When they made eye-contact, he leaned in and kissed her softly, deeply. It was a simple thing, but it lingered long enough to make Anti-Cosmo visibly uncomfortable, which presumably had been the point. Anti-Wanda started to ease away, and Anti-Juandissimo let her go. He drew back a step, clutching the umbrella handle in both hands.

"Now," he said, tipping up his chin, "I am okay with it. You go have a nice time with the High Count."

"You don't wanna come?" she asked.

"No, I will be all right. I will see you later. At roost, perhaps." He emphasized  _roost_. Anti-Juandissimo bobbed his head, turned, and limped away down the street. Anti-Wanda blinked after him. Then she shook her head. With a twirl of her wand, she formed her own black umbrella out of pure magic. Its pattern mimicked overlapping leaves, and Anti-Wanda opened it there on the street, wondering half-heartedly if she should have run inside to do so instead. That was bad luck, you know. Setting it to her shoulder, she gave it a twirl. It chased interesting shadows across the puddles full of starlight and magic glitter. Not bad for an item she rarely had a reason to practice  _anti-poof_ ing up.

Anti-Cosmo clicked his tongue. "Oh, pish posh. You don't need that. Here, good woman. Allow me." Like her, he spun his wand, but didn't get the pattern right. The new umbrella turned to smoke in his hands the second it formed. Anti-Wanda restrained her snort. She could practically feel Anti-Cosmo flushing, but he reevaluated the way he held his wand and tried again. Say one thing for the guy- he weren't nothing if not persistent.

On his fourth try, he proved successful in crafting a green one. When he raised his head, his smile was so broad that his fangs showed to the gums. Anti-Wanda started slightly. Oh, yeah. Anti-Cosmo may be short in height with nerdy-thin shoulders, but when it came to fangs, he was  _big_. Those pointy devils were curved, not straight like Anti-Juandissimo's, or flat like hers. After flicking his hand from his chest to his knees in a limited attempt to brush some of the wetness from his clothes, he offered her the umbrella handle.

"Care to join me on this walk, darling?"

"No thanks." Anti-Wanda hopped off the sidewalk into the street and splashed past him. "You keep it. I gots my own, and I wanna run it through the test."

The market lay on the far side of the city, and they had to pass through the upper-class district of manor houses and chic restaurants hawking exotic meals from other planets in order to get there. Privately, she dreaded the thought of Anti-Cosmo yanking her inside one now that she had her mind set on buying bread. What did that mean for her counterpart? Did Wanda Prime thrive on the spontaneous excitement of last-minute plan changes, and dates in unexpected restaurants where no reservations had been made in advance? Hmm. To each her own. Anti-Wanda couldn't see the appeal herself. She was a traveler in her blood, and while she could admit that there was a certain appeal in letting loose, there were days when the instinct to be a tourist and see the stereotypical landmarks of Earth and Fairy World won over the possibility of enjoying the sunset from a rooftop with some random new friends she'd just met.

Not that this was a date. She did have a swell boyfriend, of course. She and her boss were meeting to discuss a matter of business.

"Ffffffffffffffffff…" With the sound of a deflating balloon hissing between his fangs, Anti-Cosmo bolted up the street after her. His clumsy feet kept slipping on the slick cloudstones, his damp wings slapping against his back. Eventually, he fell into step beside her as near as their bumping umbrellas allowed them to get. "Goodness, this rain is atrocious," he observed, whipping his handkerchief from the chest pocket of his coat. He pressed it to his monocle without taking the thing from his eye. "I say, some lout must have  _really_  ticked Sunnie off this morning, you know what I mean?" When she didn't answer, he prompted, "Prince Sunday? Nature spirit of Water? I was born in his year on the zodiac, you know."

"I know."

"Yes." Returning the handkerchief to its proper place, he looked off in the opposite direction. "I thought you might. And you know, I'm so terribly sorry for yelling at you that way. That was vastly unbecoming of me and the image I desire to project."

Anti-Wanda nodded. Anti-Cosmo glanced at her curiously, but she refused to humor him even when his gaze lingered on her cheek and began to slide down her neck to her collarbone. He made a show of waiting for her at each puddle in case the opportunity to engage in the gentlemanly gesture of lying down his coat for her to walk on should present itself. She made a show of jumping into each one and splattering his socks with muck.

"My sis lives in a manor 'round these parts now." She had no idea why she told him that. It just seemed like the type of thing a damsel was supposed to talk about when walking in the rain with a conversational drake. "Colony life weren't really her thing."

"I befriended her counterpart during my time at the Academy," Anti-Cosmo said absently.

"What's she like?"

"Oh… Dangerous. Powerful. Passionate."

Anti-Wanda checked over her shoulder. "Huh?"

He stopped walking. His hand clenched the umbrella hook. "Oh. Er, she performs at amphitheatres all throughout Fairy World. At least, I think that's how it typically goes. Her views regarding Anti-Fairies are really quite fascinating. Perhaps I could introduce you sometime, hmm?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that." After pausing beneath a signpost for ? minutes (Longer than she would have liked, whatever the number was), Anti-Wanda turned their direction down another street. The buildings were shorter here, and the ground sloped steeply down to the center of the crater that held the city Luna's Landing. Rainwater sucked and slurped at their feet with every step. It was still raining, despite her and Anti-Cosmo's hasty attempt at patching relations up between them. Anti-Wanda stopped next to a small luminescent tree on one side of the path. Leaning her shoulder against the trunk, she pulled off her shoe and dumped a puddle out. "She famous at acting yet? Fairy-Wendy?"

"She calls herself Blonda on the stage, actually." Anti-Cosmo made a swirling motion to suggest the styled curls at the front of her hair that mimicked Anti-Wanda's own. "Because she dyes her hair pale yellow."

Anti-Wanda thought about that for a minute. After slipping her shoe on again, she asked, "What color is my countypart's hair?"

"Dusky brown, actually. She dyes it fuschia pink."

"What's so bad about brown?"

"Perhaps she likes pink."

"That ain't a good reason to dye your hair that color," Anti-Wanda grumbled. Her foot came down on the sidewalk again, next to a crack that she avoided deliberately. "What'd her family say about it?"

No response. Anti-Wanda turned to find Anti-Cosmo staring at her, the fur around his neck gradually beginning to puff up. The way his emerald gaze seared the back of her skull made her stomach churn with shadowy butterflies. "I like pink," he whispered. "I didn't use to. But I actually think I like it now. It's a lovely color, actually. Very strong."

Uhhh… He probably could have found a better time to say that than when he was gazing right at her pink eyes. Anti-Wanda edged away. Turning swiftly on her heels, she walked towards the market at a brisk pace. She pulled the flared collar of her sky-blue jacket high, and kept her umbrella low. Nutcase. Was that supposed to be a pick-up line, or had he not even realized his comment could be taken like that? Either way, he'd better not get any ideas. Sure, commitment was a fickle mistress in Anti-Fairy culture, but she still wasn't interested in sneaking around behind her boyfriend's back. Not one lick.

When the market came into view up ahead, they found the stall owners competing for customers by maintaining magical domes around their general area. Some had even teamed up so even the path between them was shaded. The pair wandered for a few minutes, investigating the warm foods offered by vendors who hadn't decided to call it quits and head home. They found the bakery had taken charge of shielding three wireframe tables and half a dozen chairs from the rain. Upon stepping beneath its pale purple dome, and after accepting the usual greeting of "Most honored, Esteemed High Count" from Anti-Nixon, Anti-Wanda collapsed her umbrella into smoke. Anti-Cosmo hung his on his wrist by the hook so he wouldn't need to recreate it later. "I do believe Sunnie is feeling better already," he said cheerily. "Perhaps this rain will lighten before we even so much as- Oh, my gods." His hand slapped over his mouth. Then his eyes shot aimlessly into the sky. "Um… Mm."

"S'matter?"

"Anti-Wanda, there's no easy way to say this, but you may wish to… You have a little…" His fingers flicked vaguely at her shirt, eyes still averted. "Right there."

What did he-?

Oh. She'd been out in the rain wearing a lightly-colored shirt. Aw, crud. Anti-Wanda waved her wand, drying the fabric instantly. The creases turned crispy, and she almost swore the size shrank along with it. But, at least it was dry. She tugged the hem down around her hips.

"Why'd ya look?" she asked.

"Wasn't," he mumbled around his fingers. "Accident."

"You weren't lookin', or it weren't an accident?"

He kept his stubborn face tilted back, puffing his cheeks. One of his feet, though up to the ankles in undrained water, started to tap. "Don't do this to me, darling. You know exactly what I mean."

"So you was looking?" she asked innocently.

"Don't play dumb, woman. We both know you're smarter than that."

"Ain't dumb. I's just playing coy. It's what I do."

"Are you thoroughly decent now?" he demanded, still tapping.

"I fixed it." Anti-Wanda jabbed her thumb at the lone server behind the makeshift bakery. Technically there were other bakeries with actual walls and ceilings, and technically there were other vendors around the market who sold bread and things, but everyone knew Anti-Nixon. He grew all his ingredients in one of the few plots of Anti-Fairy World that still received chunks of warm sunlight for most of the year. Nothing was artificially  _poof_ ed up, nothing was imported from across the border, and he always took tender care of the ground. "Whatcha gonna get here?"

"Hmm…" Anti-Cosmo's gaze trailed across the blackboards leaning against the crates that made up the front of the Anti-Nixon's stall. A smooth glass case topped the crates, shielding goodies from grabby hands but not from adoring eyes. "You know, I'm not quite sure. What do you suggest?"

Anti-Wanda checked the menu too, trying to find something that sounded appetizing to her cold, empty stomach. Finally her eyes settled on the bottom. "Cake."

She fully expected Anti-Cosmo to shoot her a strange stare. Probably argue with her, perhaps laugh at her. Instead, he tapped one claw against his chin. "It  _is_ a rather dreary day out, isn't it? Logically, such gloomy weather ought to prompt us to fill the void in our souls with enjoyable sweets. Perhaps I'll have myself a slice of cake too. It's a pastry of some kind, isn't it? What does it taste like?"

"It's…" Anti-Wanda turned her head. "What? It's cake. You know cake. With frosting. Pixies make it. That's why there's birthday cakes. The Head Pixie invented birthday cake. He gave me samples at the Sky Temple when we was partying. Didn'tya eat cake with your litter when y'all turned 150,000? Everyone eats up cake all the time."

Anti-Cosmo's attention veered to the floor. He scratched at his cheek. "Yes, well. You've met my mother, I believe. Wasting money to commemorate my legal adulthood wasn't an option."

"You really ain't never had cake, for reals," she said, touching her lips. "But… I thought you was a noble? Shouldn't you have got stuff?"

"I also raised a genie or two," he pointed out with a bitter edge to his voice, "and as you can see, I'm certainly not drowning in cake on that end either."

Anti-Wanda turned to Anti-Nixon, waiting patiently behind the bakery counter for them to come to a decision. "We'll have two cakes, thank you nice."

Anti-Nixon's eyes expanded. "Two whole cakes? Uhh… I don't know if I can… I mean, yes to him, he's High Count, but I think I'm going to need to see some I.D. for you."

"Slices," Anti-Cosmo corrected, holding up two fingers.

"Oh, thank Rhoswen. That's fine, then. What flavors?"

Anti-Cosmo looked again at Anti-Wanda to take the lead, like he'd never visited a market stall that offered more than one standard product before. "Toffee crunch for me," she said. "And… somethin' nice, but light and not too fluffy for my friend. He's a first-timer."

"Apple-cinnamon it is."

"Not that one," Anti-Cosmo blurted. When they both looked at him, Anti-Nixon with his knife high, Anti-Cosmo made a repeated throat-cutting gesture with his hand. "No cinnamon, please. Vanilla will be fine."

Anti-Nixon bobbed his head. "One toffee crunch, one vanilla. And how do you want the payment to be made?"

"Separate," Anti-Wanda said, at the same time Anti-Cosmo said, "I'll cover it." They exchanged a look. He already had his High Count stamp and green ink pad halfway out of his pocket. Rain dripped from the awning in a steady stream behind him. The horizon, normally a beautiful swirl of red and orange where Luna's Landing ended and the solid island traded itself for open sky, had become a mass of black clouds. They framed Anti-Cosmo's face in a strange way that made it difficult to pin down his mood as disgruntled, or startled. Her pride slightly injured, but her reluctance to irritate her new boss stronger, Anti-Wanda tilted her head. "I guess he's buying the cake."

Anti-Nixon handed two plates and two spoons over his makeshift counter. "These are dissolvable," he said. "Just run them under cold water when you're finished and they'll turn to smoke. Of course, it looks like that's especially easy today."

"It's a triangle pastry," Anti-Cosmo said when he took his slice, sounding thrilled with this discovery.

"Yeah," she said, looking at him.

They moved aside to a wireframe table with two chairs. Anti-Cosmo took hers and pulled it out for her. Anti-Wanda sat and allowed him to push it in. After he took his own seat, she said, "So? Whatcha wanna know about bein' a medium?"

"Well, everything, preferably." Anti-Cosmo bent forward over the table, brushing his claws through his hair. "I really jumped on this wagon hardly understanding what I was getting into."

Anti-Wanda watched him for a second, then carefully took his plate and moved it to the side. That should keep any dandruff or stray hairs from falling in until he completed his nervous self-preening. "Yeah. Hey, try the cake."

His first bite was tentative, his chewing very slow. But as he swallowed, his pupils widened. "What… is this?"

Unable to suppress her snickers, Anti-Wanda shook her head. "Good, huh?"

He took another spoonful, but let it hover in front of his lips while he stared at her. "You know, I have a policy of abstaining from sugar in large amounts. I may have to make an exception for cake."

"And that's just vanilla."

"I suppose it is."

While he ate, Anti-Wanda cut off a small chunk of hers with her spoon. She reached out towards his plate. "Here. Try the toffee crunch."

Instead of pushing his plate forward like a sane person so she could reach, Anti-Cosmo looked curiously at the spoon for about half a second, then darted out his tongue. Anti-Wanda flinched. Too late. The bite disappeared, leaving her spoon a little more contaminated with his saliva than she'd wanted. Oh well. High Count privileges.

"I should have gotten toffee crunch," Anti-Cosmo mused. Anti-Wanda glanced up from the spoon she'd started to rub with the hem of her shirt.

"I ain't sharing anymore."

"Cruel woman."

"Greedy scumball."

Anti-Cosmo poked out the tip of his tongue at her. There was still a chocolate crumb or two clinging to his taste buds. Leaning his chin on his hand, elbow planted on the table, he drew a circle in the air around her face with his spoon. "Foul temptress."

"Big know-it-all."

"Thoughtless dunce."

"Peachy marshmallow."

"Butterheaded twit."

"Petal-tongued snatter."

Anti-Cosmo blinked. Anti-Wanda's smirk faded. The rain plinked down on the purple dome above them as the silence stretched longer. Thunder stirred in the distance. Then he placed his fingertips to his chest. "I'm offended."

"Yeeeaaah, I took it too far with that word. Sorry, High Count. Uh." She adjusted her plate. "Anti-Nixon bakes real nice goodies, but s'not as good as Pixie cake."

"What does Pixie cake taste like, pray tell?"

"It's…" Anti-Wanda tapped her claws on the table. They kept disappearing into the wireframe holes. "Okay. Next time it's a Love year and we have the seven festivals 'round the Castle grounds, you  _gots_  ta promise you'll let me show you around. The Pixies always have a cake booth."

His forehead crinkled. "I've never seen it."

"You prob'ly weren't lookin' in the right place."

Anti-Cosmo narrowed his eyes. "If H.P. set up a cake booth in Anti-Fairy World every seven years, I would know."

The veiled threat underlying his tone brought her pause, but only for a second. Anti-Wanda shrugged. "I know you'll proba'ly be way busy during the festivals, but I hope ya come find me anyway. I'll take ya 'round, and I'll buy ya any a' the cupcakes ya want."

"I'm quite bothered I didn't know this was a thing," he muttered. He poked his cake again with his spoon. "This seems like something H.P. would have felt inclined to mention while I was rebuilding the Water Temple in Pixie World."

"Heh heh. Guess that means I'm a better friend to ya than the Head Pixie is, don't it?"

"About the nature spirits," he said.

"Huh?"

The handkerchief came out of his pocket, and the monocle came off his face. "My understanding is that being a medium is a personal thing which each medium and nature spirit need to work out on their own as they grow more familiar with one another over the years. It isn't as though there's some sort of handbook I might devour in order to learn the secrets of the universe. But I don't have time for this. Tell me what all I need to know so I might be a good High Count for my people."

"Uhhhh…" Anti-Wanda rolled her eyes. "I dunno. There's kind of a lot a' stuff about it, and we've only got the two slices a' cake, so…"

Anti-Cosmo's claw went up. "How do we make the rain stop? Let's begin there."

"We can't."

"Who can if not us?  _We_  channel the nature spirits who embody Water and Sky."

Hmm. Anti-Wanda thought for a few seconds, which was at least two seconds longer than she wanted to bother with. After eating another bite of cake, she said, "Whatcha know about the Prince of Water?"

Anti-Cosmo didn't answer at first. He traced a circle on his leg with one claw. For a moment, Anti-Wanda wondered if she'd insulted his intelligence, and if his pride was going to prompt him to refuse her. Then he said, "The Prince of Water is bound to the idea of the Water Temple. While bound, he can perceive little but his Temple, and the rest of the universe remains a great white void for him. His destructive tendencies are kept at least somewhat restrained. However, the golden chains which tie him to his Temple are endless. He can drift away from the Temple, far across what appears to be a blank void in his mind, and even encounter other nature spirits. Particularly the Prince of Soil, of course."

"Mmhm." She gestured towards the dark clouds overhead. "Or the Prince a' Sky, as the case might be sometimes, ayup."

"Yes. Also, the Prince of Water can create small manifestations of himself to occupy his echo chamber in the Water Temple in a way which mortals can understand. It was with one such manifestation that I, um…" He drew an X on his left hand.

"Kiff-tied with Sunnie, yeah." She sat back. "But you're interestin'. You got ta see the Prince of Water himself, didn't ya? When the Head Pixie knocked the Temple down, I mean."

"I suppose."

He didn't seem inclined to disclose details. Maybe another day.

"And how's it feel now that you and Sunnie did the thing? It's different, right?"

"Like…" Anti-Cosmo placed his hands to his chest and moved them up and down his torso. "I feel… very aware of myself, all the time. I suppose it's the way I would feel if I were pregnant. I'm suddenly sensitive to the fact that when I eat, I'm providing nutrients for another besides myself. That when I endure pain, Sunnie is tied to me as though I'm his yoo-doo doll. That when it comes to the feelings in my chest, I can keep no secrets from him. I understand that he can see and hear everything that I do, even if he is a step removed from it all. I have no privacy, and yet… I chose to accept that fate. For him. He's a curious companion. He doesn't speak in my mind with words, although sometimes I can feel his presence, like a cold patch moving about beneath my skin. I know that if he wished to, he could seize control of any part of my body, from my hand to my mouth or even all of me, but only if I were to allow it. I constantly feel a buzz of energy in my blood every minute of every day. It's as though I'm endlessly…" He groped for the word.

"Turned on?" she asked, leaning her knuckles on her cheek.

His eyes squeezed shut. "I wasn't going to say it like _that!_ "

"And you're  _suuure_  you don't just feel like that 'cuz I'm sittin' over here being so goshdarn pretty?"

"I- er- That's not- I don't- Why would- I could never- I-" He flushed bright periwinkle. "No! Good smoke, be serious!"

"Relax, High Count. I'm just teasin' ya 'round the mulberry bush a li'l." Anti-Wanda danced her spoon across the table, twirling it and making it jump. "It's like this. Nature spirits get bored being locked up all the time. I mean, it's been what, 900,000 years since the last time Sunnie had a medium?"

"Something like that."

She shrugged. "They get bored. They gotta find ways to stay entertained, so they don't start blowing things up or flooding places or hitting us with famines. Can I tell ya my theory 'bout what's going on, even though it ain't supported by solid fact?"

Anti-Cosmo tipped his head. "I think your perspective would be very interesting to hear. Please, do go on."

"'Kay, so. Basically, there's our zodiac spirits. They's all locked up in their big void, but at least they's got each other for company, right?"

"To the best of my knowledge."

"Pretend there's this… 'jar' of stuff. Papers and stuff. Little ones, like cards that ya fold up tight. Pretend there is."

He nodded.

"Let's say when the nature spirits get bored, they write down puzzles and challenges for each other. It's like a list of stuff to do. We'll call 'em 'tasks'."

He nodded again. Anti-Wanda brought her spoon back to what remained of her cake.

"So each task in this huuuge jar is written on these cards. The zodiac spirits play this game of life so they don't get bored, using mortals as their playing pieces. We've always kinda suspected that, right? Sometimes they drop hints when you talk to them, right?"

"Sunnie may have mentioned something of the kind."

"So there's this cosmic game. To start, all the spirits who are playing draw out, liiike… five or six or seven or something cards to start with from the idea jar. And this jar's way huge. Then the spirits see what's written on the cards they picked, and that's the game. Do the tasks you get." She took another bite. "The hard part's 'cuz everyone's trying ta complete their tasks at the same time everyone else is. Sometimes they fight, but they love each other, so it's fine. Different tasks is worth different point numbers, so the hard ones are more points. You can pick out more cards when you're done with the ones you started with, and the nature spirit who gets the most points when all the cards are gone from the jar wins. Then the spirits start over again. Usually takes them a few centuries to get through a single game. That's what I think."

"That…" Anti-Cosmo leaned his chin on his interlaced fingers. "That's a very interesting theory, Anti-Wanda. You know, I'm always astounded by your fascinating intellect. What sort of tasks do you imagine they might have?"

Anti-Wanda shrugged. "I dunno. I think it's prob'ly mostly stuff like, 'Ten points to the first one who gets three new monuments made in their images.' 'Cuz you know, the spirits can sense images made of them even when stuck up inside their Temples. But there's rules. Like, they can't tell mortals that they're trying to win a game, and that we oughta build monuments so they can win points. That's why they've never told us any of this. But like, they can do little miracles for us and  _hope_  we build monuments to thank them. Ooor they can be more lowhanded, I guess? And like, tell someone they'll give 'em a miracle if they build a monument first."

"I'll believe it."

"Yeah. Other tasks gotta be like, 'You get a hundred points if five a' your own guys are in someone else's temple all at the same time' and 'You get twenty points if you have the following fruits in your offering bowl at the same time.' They ain't allowed ta mind control us, though. That's the game. They have to see if mortals do stuff on their own, and they can't tell us direct about it." Anti-Wanda pointed to Anti-Cosmo with her spoon, prompting him to lift his eyebrows. "There's also these point bonuses. Having the High Count or the Countess born in your year gets you bonuses."

"That's understandable."

"And there's negatives too. 'Lose twenty points every time you grant a miracle' and 'Lose ten points when someone leaves your temple without saying a prayer' and 'Lose five points every day one of your followers spends a night in jail' or whatever. That's why they do some a' the weird stuff they do and act all vague a lot a' the time. They can't tell us these things, or they'd lose."

To Anti-Wanda's surprise, Anti-Cosmo ducked his head and began chuckling with amusement. "Oh, my pretty pet. You've really thought this out, haven't you?"

"Best theory I ever heard for why they don't just solve all our problems for us all the time," she pointed out. "The spirits all got their own agendas, High Count. Sometimes they match ours, and sometimes they don't. The spirits ain't mean on purpose, but sometimes they see us like pieces in their game, and they forget we all gots feelings. Sometimes it's hard for them ta not have control over us or what happens in their game, exactly. S'like if you was playing a game a' chess, except with seven players. And y'all got children in your laps who are really the guys moving the pieces. You can't touch the board, and neither can any a' the other grown-ups. Only the kids can, 'cuz your hands are chained behind your back. You can give them hints, but ya can't control what they do, e'en when it's real important and you might lose the game 'cuz of them. And sometimes you get frustrated about it and wanna give up. And it's like this for everyone else playing the game too, all day, all the time. I wanted a' tell you this so you wouldn't be sad if you feel like Sunnie doesn't talk to ya as much as you want. He's got his own thing going on, and maybe he can't tell you 'cuz he doesn't wanna lose the game. You get it?"

His eyes were lower on her shirt than they probably should have been. Had he even heard her? "Uh…" Anti-Wanda waved her hand at him. "High Count?"

Anti-Cosmo shifted his eyes up to hers, though he didn't take his hand from his mouth. "Oh, right. Terribly sorry. I was thinking of… something else."

She decided not to ask, just in case. "Ah. Well. I guess that's it. That's what I wanted ta say. You don't control the nature spirits, or their powers. You're just the guy who lets Sunnie see the world, since they can't see any of these colors or anything when they's locked up in their void like naughty kids grounded to stay inside the house. Any more questions?"

"No, thank you. I'll get in contact with you again if I think any up as the years go along."

"Nice. So we's even for now?"

He brought another spoonful of cake to his mouth. "I do so loathe that word. I don't think in terms of owings and evens, darling. But yes. I suppose… we're even."

"So about that dumb post office roof…"

"I'll give your opinion thorough consideration."

That was probably the most compromise she was going to get out of him today. Anti-Wanda dropped her focus to her own cake again. "Thanks for buying me stuff. Glad we made up about this."

"As am I. Trivial arguments are such silly things."

They waited where they sat ten minutes longer, chasing bits of half-dissolved plates around the table with their spoons. Finally, Anti-Cosmo put an end to that and polished his claws on the provided serviette. "Shame this rain hasn't stopped, though."

Anti-Wanda stared through the purple dome overhead. "Yeah. I mean, maybe Munn and Sunnie ain't mad. Maybe they made it rain 'cuz they were happy. How would you show you were happy if you had nature powers?"

"Possibly they're happy. Maybe they're good friends enjoying a very pleasant lunch date together." His gaze migrated slowly back to her face, where it lingered for a time. Anti-Wanda set down her spoon.

"Why d'ya keep looking at me like that?"

His brow furrowed. "Like what?"

She made an  _I have my eyes on you_  gesture with her fingers. Twice.

"Oh, that. Yes. Well." Anti-Cosmo closed his eyes. He let one open hand hover in the air beside his face for a moment. The fingers clenched, knuckles bulging, when he captured the thought he wanted to follow. "You know, I heard it said that our counterparts have become romantically involved over on the other side. They're supposedly beginning courtship. It may progress."

Anti-Wanda raised her eyebrows at him. "It could."

Anti-Cosmo rolled his hand in a weaving gesture, intently focused on his reflection in his tiny serving plate. "So of course, it stands to reason that if their relations were to become physically intimate, that means you and I would eventually have to, um…"

"I reckon we would."

"I've been seeing someone else," he blurted, as though she hadn't attended his wedding. For the first time in a few minutes, he jerked up his head and locked eyes with her. His cheeks burned, snapping with cold magic that made the fur on her arms tingle even from where she sat. "And… there's this child I've been raising. Not mine, exactly, only sort of. That rather complicates things, doesn't it?"

She shrugged. "Things work out."

His hands fell to either side of his plate, and he sat there and looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. Very slowly, as though he'd already planned out their entire future, he shook his head. His nose scrunched up. "I'm sorry. Oh gods, I'm so sorry for what's about to happen to you, Anti-Wanda. I've made a mess of things with my loopy ideas."

"Don't need t'pologize ta me, High Count."

"I should go," he muttered, standing up. Anti-Wanda stood too, plate in hand.

"Walk me back to the Castle at least, ya creep."

He flared his nostrils, but his smile was amused and his eyes were tender. "Such a sassy tongue on you, you dainty pillock."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the umbrella from him. Popping it open, she said, "Doorknob bucket."

"You're such a dolt sometimes."

"Better dolty than a loonypants."

"Oh, absolutely."

Why… was… he looking at her like that?

Anti-Cosmo stiffened as though his spine had been snapped. He spun around, holding his fingertips to his cheek, and beckoned for her to follow without looking at her, very un-gentlemanlike. "Yes, um, well… Come along, darling. It's not getting any lighter out. Thank Rhoswen it's stopped hailing, at the very least."

He didn't see the clouds break behind him.


End file.
